by B. B. Hamel
And as it slowly ends, he comes inside of me. I can feel his hot cum deep inside of my pussy as he shoots himself into me. He groans, grunting my name, and that pushes me to a level I never knew existed.
Slowly, we come down together. Our orgasms end and I realize that I’m sweating, panting, half-dressed in the moonlight. We collapse onto the dirt together and he cradles me in his arms.
“Fuck, girl,” he says softly, chuckling. “That was amazing.”
“Noah,” I say, nuzzling his chest. “I’m sorry. I won’t worry you again.”
“If you keep fucking like that, you can worry me all you want.”
I grin and kiss his lips then let him wrap his arms around me, hugging me tight.
I’m stir crazy. I’m bored. Sometimes I’m alone for too long. But I’m never lonely, not with Noah around. He makes me feel things I never imagined I’d like. He knows what I want, even when I don’t know it.
I need to trust him. In the end, he’s trying to do what’s best for us. I’m stir crazy and don’t know how long I’ll last, but I’ll try. At least I’ll try for him.
23
Noah
The moon is full in the sky as I make myself more comfortable on the hard concrete roof. It’s cool but comfortable outside, and the full moonlight makes it easy to see as a man wearing a heavy black coat walks up to the warehouse door, knocks, and then is let inside.
He’s one of maybe twenty or thirty men each night. Despite the police activity in the area, the whorehouse hasn’t slowed down. Not one tiny bit.
In fact, since this all started, I noticed a slight uptick in customers.
That’s strange for a niche thing like this place. Unless it’s not niche at all. Unless it’s actually a huge operation.
But I would have heard of it before if that were the case. I had my ear to the ground in this city, and anything illegal going down eventually came to my attention. I couldn’t imagine a situation in which this whorehouse avoided my gaze, especially considering they had little girls in there.
As I watch, though, it becomes clear to me, at least partially, why I haven’t heard about it yet.
The clientele isn’t your usual whorehouse losers. They’re not poor working class boys from the south of the city. They’re not dockworkers, HVAC guys, landscapers, or fast food managers.
They’re rich. Or at least some of them are rich. Most of them are at least office workers with solid jobs and solid salaries, at least based on what they’re wearing. Sheer was a divorce lawyer, of all things, and he did pretty well for himself in a little private practice he had set up. That was probably how he found out about the place, and probably how he could afford it.
I bet he thought the whorehouse was a godsend for him. He probably had no way of getting his jollies except by actually raping little girls, so he figured raping one in a whorehouse would be better.
Scumbag. I’m glad that fucker is dead.
But there are a lot more fuckers where he came from. I write down the man’s description in the big coat as best I can before he disappears into the warehouse. I fall back and glance through the notebook of descriptions, trying to see if I’ve noticed him before.
I haven’t been able to identify anyone, at least not yet. The richest men show up in chauffeured cars, and I’ll be able to track down their license plates eventually. Most men show up on foot, which suggests that they’re either taking public transit or they park far away and then walk over. I’m betting the whorehouse has some kind of rules about how they approach and what they wear, because most of them have on hats or scarves or something to obscure their identity.
It’s a well-oiled machine, this place. They come, they fuck, they come again, and then they leave. Most guys only stay in there for an hour or two at most before getting hustled back onto the street. I never see who’s inside or what goes on in there, and I haven’t tried to yet. I know I will soon, but I want to gather as much information as possible.
One big thing is keeping me away, or at least forcing me to be careful. The fact that the cops are staying away despite working barely down the street and the clientele seems to be rich suggests that this place is connected. Seriously connected. Maybe even bribing the cops to leave them alone, since the place hasn’t so much as missed a single day since the police started their investigation.
All of that means I need to be very cautious. I can’t start killing a bunch of rich, powerful men without some kind of plan in place. That would draw far too much attention to myself. So far I’ve gotten by with murdering the scum of the earth, the poorest, dirtiest, most disgusting fucks out there. But I know that the rich can be just as bad, they just hide their crimes behind their big bank accounts and their fancy lives. They deserve death as much as any poor asshole does, and maybe even more, since they have the resources to be horrible on a large scale.
In all my time watching, there is one thing that stands out to me. There is one person that keeps coming and going, every single day like clock work, early in the morning until late at night.
At first, I thought it was just a regular customer. But he didn’t leave in an hour or two like the others did. It also took me a few days to realize that it wasn’t a man at all.
It was a woman. A tall woman dressed in masculine clothes, but definitely a woman.
I call her the Madame in my mind. I can’t be sure if she’s the one running the show, but I suspect she is. She’s dressed too well and keeps regular hours. She almost comes and goes like a normal salary person working in an office, although she works late hours. I haven’t been able to identify any other workers, but I’m sure they have plenty of muscle living inside of that place.
I stay up late under the full moon, waiting. Tonight I’m going to make a move, do something to further this mission. I can’t keep waiting around, doing nothing. I can’t get into the building, but there is one easy thing I can do
Tonight, I’m following the Madame.
She comes out around one in the morning, just like I thought she would. The man in the big coat hasn’t surfaced yet, but he’s not important. The Madame comes out of a side door wearing a gray trench coat, running sneakers, and a wool hat pulled down low. Her hair is either cut short or bundled up on her head; I can never tell. Either way, I hurry over to a rope that I have set up on the side of the building and quickly slide down it.
I have to hurry. The Madame always walks the same way every night, but I always lose her as she rounds the next block. I hit the ground and start jogging to catch up, which I know is dangerous this late at night, but I can’t risk losing her. I’ve wasted so much time already.
Luckily I spot her up ahead just as she turns a corner. The streets are otherwise empty and I can’t risk catching up with her just yet. I quickly walk to the corner and round it. She’s up ahead, walking at a normal clip toward center city. I follow, staying far back, not taking any risks.
She walks a well-rehearsed path, I can tell. There’s no attempt at throwing off anybody that’s following her, which surprises me. I figured someone like her would at least assume that people might want to come after her some day, but no, apparently not. Maybe her connections are just that damn good.
I have a strange feeling in my gut as I follow. I can’t tell if it’s caution or what, but I’m worried about this. She’s simply walking into center city, not deviating from her straightforward path. I would have guessed that she’d grab a cab or get on a bus at some point, but apparently she’s just walking.
Fifteen minutes go by like this. We walk and we walk, and I stay far back until we get deeper into the city. More people are around, so I can risk getting nearer. She never looks back or changes her brisk speed, she just keeps going.
We get into the heart of center city and she finally pauses at an intersection, although the light is green. I hang back, curious. Suddenly she darts across the street and goes down a set of subway stairs.
I have to almost run to catch up. She disappears into the subway an
d by the time I can follow, she’s nowhere in sight. I trot down the steps but I don’t risk going all the way in. If she spots me, I could really fuck myself.
I force myself to back off. I stand up at the subway entrance for almost a half hour, waiting to see if she comes back out, but no. Apparently she went down there and got on a train. She could be anywhere in the city by now.
I head back to my car, trying to wrap my head over what just happened.
She didn’t make me. I’m sure of that. She never actually saw me. But at the end there, she suddenly acted like she was being followed after all. The whole walk she seemed perfectly normal and content, right up until she darted down into that subway. I couldn’t understand it at all, and that made me even more uneasy.
Regardless of what happened at the end, I did learn something very, very important.
That walk felt rehearsed. She wasn’t looking around or checking street signs. She knew where she was going because she’s done that walk a hundred times before.
That’s her route. I’d bet anything on it. She walks that way every time she goes home from that whorehouse. I need to follow her a couple more times to confirm, but I’m fairly positive already.
That’s her route. And it’s her weakness.
I don’t need to get inside the building. Because she’s going to come to me.
24
Amelia
Days passed since that moment in the field with Noah. He spends more time away from home lately, and comes back very late at night.
I’m bored. I hate to admit it, but it’s the truth. Nothing has changed, not really, and I’m still stuck wandering around his property searching for something to do. I know that this is what’s best for me, that I’m still just as stuck as I was before all this happened.
I’m trying to be patient. I really am. It would help a lot if he didn’t disappear all the time, leaving me all alone. I want more training, want him to teach me, but he keeps putting me off. He says he will, he promises up and down that he will, but days pass and nothing happens.
I understand that he’s busy. I can see it on his face when he comes home late at night, stressed and trying to process what he saw out there. I don’t ask him questions, because I don’t want to stress him more, but I know I have to start pushing. Otherwise, he’s going to just leave me out.
It’s a balancing act, this thing what we’re doing, but he’s not good at it. He’s single-minded and intense when it comes to his work, and I can tell that this hunt is consuming him. I don’t know how or why, but I can tell that something is bothering him and something might be wrong. It could have to do with me, but I have no clue.
Days pass. I don’t say a word. I wait for him to come out and tell me himself. I don’t want to nag or make his life harder, but I’m stuck in the dark and I’m beginning to panic.
I make up my mind one night while he’s away. The moon is full outside and I sit on his deck in a chair, staring up at the sky, a fire raging in his outdoor fireplace beside me. I have a glass of red wine and a big, cozy blanket, and I’m pretty content as I wait for him to get home.
I hear him pull in around three in the morning. I know he’s going to be exhausted, but I can’t let that deter me. He comes into the house and I watch him through the glass doors as he puts away his keys and pours himself a drink before coming out to stand in the doorway.
“You’re still up,” he says, watching me.
“I like to wait for you.”
He nods. “Thanks.”
I pause for a second then casually ask, “How was it tonight?”
He looks at me. I can’t tell if he realizes that it’s the first time I’ve asked about his hunt in a few days or not.
“It was okay,” he says finally.
“What happened?”
He pauses, clearly trying to decide what to tell me. “It was uneventful,” he says finally.
“Noah,” I say, watching his expression. “You can’t keep pushing me away.”
“Pushing you away?” He cocks his head at me.
“You stopped the training. You don’t tell me what’s happening out there. You’re barely home as it is.” I stand up and take a step toward him. “You’re pushing me away.”
“That’s not my intention,” he says softly.
“So then stop. Tell me what’s happening.”
“You don’t need to know.”
“I don’t?” I can feel anger inside of me, but I keep it at bay. “Am I not involved?”
“You don’t need to be.” His face doesn’t betray a single thing and it drives me insane.
“You seem to have forgotten that I killed with you.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“So then why am I not involved?”
“The cops are looking for you,” he says, still watching me carefully. “Even if I wanted to bring you out there, I can’t. Telling you about this will only make it harder.”
“So make it harder.” I stand closer to him but I don’t break my gaze. I won’t back down from him. I’ll do as he asks, but he has to do his part, too.
He can’t just keep me here in the dark, disappearing all the time to go hunting. I need to be cared for, watched over. I need him to talk to me, touch me, kiss me. I need human contact. I can’t just keep drifting around his property like a bored, lost soul, a prisoner in a beautiful cage.
“Amelia,” he says, “I thought we were done with this.”
“I promised to stay here and I am. But I didn’t promise to stay silent while you disappear and refuse to tell me what’s going on.”
“I can see how that might be frustrating,” he says slowly. Hope swells in my chest that he’s beginning to see reason. “But that doesn’t change anything.”
And that hope is quickly dashed. “I want to help,” I say, and then continue before he can speak over me. “I know I can’t leave here, but at least let me listen to you. You’re stressed, Noah. You’re barely sleeping and you’re gone all day.”
“Do you want to help me,” he says slowly, “or are you just bored?”
I blink at him then sigh. “Maybe both. But I want to help more than I’m bored.”
“This is my process,” he says. “What I’m doing . . . who I’m messing with . . . it’s really dangerous. I’m not telling you because I’m protecting you.”
“I don’t need to be protected.”
“You do,” he says simply. “As much as you think you don’t, you definitely do.”
“Maybe from the police.”
“From these people, too,” he says softly. “They’re powerful, Amelia. Frankly, they make me very fucking nervous.”
“So back off.” I step toward him again, aching to reach out and touch his face, but I can’t. I won’t be the weak one. I can’t be, not anymore. “You don’t need them.”
“I can’t,” he says. “Not when I know what’s going on in there. I have to kill them.” He pauses, his eyes not leaving mine. “I need to kill them.”
I nod slowly, understanding, but afraid of my own understanding. It isn’t something he can control, this desire. He can’t really direct himself toward something else, not when he’s already attached to this place. He can’t walk away because if he did, his need would never be placated.
He has to kill them. And I understand all of that, because I feel the same way, too. He doesn’t realize it yet, and maybe I don’t fully realize it either, but I want to kill because I need to feel that way again. I need that release and crave it just as badly as he does.
“I need to sleep,” he says, knocking his drink back. He disappears back into the house without another word.
I watch him go, hating how that went. I want to follow him, kiss him, touch his body, apologize, and make things right. But I can’t.
I need him to bring me with him. I need him to let me in, fully and completely.
Maybe it was a mistake to stay. Maybe I would have been better off out in the world.
But I made t
his choice. I’m here now and I have to find a way to deal with it. I have to find a way to make him see what I need. He’ll give it to me, if only he understands.
I’ll make him understand.
25
Noah
“I thought you might want to see this.”
I crouch down next to Ryan. He looks grim, more different from his normal jovial self. He hands me a piece of paper, which I hesitantly accept.
It’s the day after the full moon. My conversation with Amelia keeps playing in my head over and over, and I have no clue what I’m supposed to do about it. On the one hand, I can see where she’s coming from. She feels trapped and bored and frustrated. I opened her up to this whole new world within her, and now I’m keeping it away from her.
But on the other, she clearly has no clue how serious this is. The police are looking for someone that matches her description. More than that, her father went missing not too long ago, and she’s likely on a list somewhere, too. I don’t know if they’ll make the connection between some poor Southside girl and this murder, but it’s possible that they will. The stakes are high, incredibly high, and we’re playing a serious balancing game.
If I let her join me, and someone happens to spot her, we’re finished. She can’t come back to the area around the warehouse because she could easily be identified by the person that originally saw her. It’s just too much of a risk.
I glance down at the paper and frown. It’s a police sketch with some reward information beneath it. Apparently, there’s a five thousand dollar reward out for Amelia’s whereabouts, though they don’t know her name and the sketch doesn’t look that much like her.
I look back at Ryan, frowning. “What’s this supposed to mean?”
“That girl is wanted in connection with the murder of Sheer.” He lets that sink in.
